I stumbled upon an innocuous book in our supply room containing a very interesting excerpt; one I believe that could shake our leadership to the core. The excerpt reads:

"Weimer struggled to his feet, beset by the renewed Bactrian assault from the Persian lines. He parried a thrust from the acinaces (dagger) aimed at his neck; deftly replying with a true and lethal slash from his own xiphos. The Bactrian, far from home, died in a gurgling fountain of his own blood.

Weimer sought out the nearest contingent of Hypaspists, for he knew returning to his phalanx would be utterly impossible as the Scythian chariots roared at their flank. The dust from the battlefield caked his eyelashes. He stumbled over a fellow Greek body.

Breathless and tired, he spared himself but a moment in the whirlwind of steel, blood, and beast.

Suddenly, an abrupt force slammed into his back. A behemoth of a man had heave kicked him, hoping to toy with Weimer's defenseless posture. The man was clearly well rested, pitched into battle from Darius at a pivotal moment. 'Scythian? Persian? Parthian?' Weimer wondered where this splendid giant hailed from; his mind dispelled the curiosity rather quickly, knowing that he only wanted to commit Weimer to Hades. The strike had thrown Weimer to the ground, his hand empty as the Xiphos landed several feet away from him. His eyes darted around the dirt around him, looking for a glimpse of the blade.

'You Macedonians die all the same,' the giant proclaimed. 'Your head will be but a trophy to Darius.'

Quickly, Weimer crawled away, throwing his hand into the dirt, trying to find anything to fight with.

The giant quickly followed, reaching for Weimer's face, hoping to yank his opponent's hair. His own hands, disappointed in the emptiness, could not find the beard that the Macedonians often sported. In this moment, Weimer's fingers found their way against the leather bound grip of his briefly lost Xiphos. The giant, however, seemed unaware of his opponent's re-found armament. Weimer brought the blade close to his body as he rolled onto his back, ready to strike as the giant closed in.

'Ha. HA!,' the giant bellowed as Weimer rolled to face him. 'YOU HAVE NO BEARD! A LADY FROM PELOPENESSE YOU APPEAR!'

Weimer, quick to take advantage of the giant's own moment of laughter, thrusted himself forward, slashing the thighs of the giant to lay him low. The giant's blood spewed forth in the dusty earth. He fell to his knees, laughing no more. Weimer readied to plunge the blade into the giant's chest.

'Laid low by a beardless man? Alexander was right, "in battles there is nothing handier to grasp than a beard."'

Weimer plunged the blade into the giant's chest. The flesh gave way, and blood spewed forth. The giant fell forward without a word.

In that moment of personal victory, Weimer caught the glimpse of Alexander's famed Companion Cavalry circling to his right. At the fore, Alexander, beardless and poised.

'By Zeus, I am glad I shaved today.'

​

The excerpt ends there, the rest of the pages torn from the binding, lost to time.